


Wrong Place, Wrong Time

by Must_Love_Books



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Case Fic, Discussion of death from illness, Discussion of emotional abuse, F/M, Gangs, Gun Violence, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-24 08:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Must_Love_Books/pseuds/Must_Love_Books
Summary: Strike interviews a landlady whilst investigating a death by shooting - surprising truths are revealed...
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 17
Kudos: 31





	1. A Proper Pub

**Author's Note:**

> Well, after becoming completely obsessed with Strike after watching the TV show for the first time six months ago, reading *all* the wonderful fan fiction on here, and joining the marvellous (and always surprising) Denmark Street group on Discord, I finally decided to write down and post something that has been percolating in my mind for a few months - I hope you enjoy it! Not timeline compliant. First time writing/posting fan fiction, so please be kind :)

Strike pulled open the door of the pub and looked around in approval. This was what he would term a 'proper' pub - dark wood furniture, dim lighting, the smell of beer in the air, and a dartboard on the wall; no fancy LED lights or blackboards describing elaborate plates of food. 

There were only a couple of patrons propping up the bar at this time of the morning, who looked at him with naked hostility in their eyes. This was no surprise, as this was not the sort of pub whose patrons made the police - or other authority figures - welcome. 

Strike was here to interview the landlady, an important alibi in a case he was investigating - the fatal shooting of a young woman on a London street notorious for being the site of gang violence. The mystery was why the young woman had been hanging around on that street in the first place. 

Strike raised his eyebrows at the young, dark haired woman behind the bar 'Hi, I'm Cormoran Strike, here to meet Carrie?'. The young woman looked him up and down, and a mischievous grin spread across her face. She held out her hand for him to shake. 'Hi, I'm Chloe, Carrie's daughter. Come on through, she's expecting you.' Chloe lifted the bar so Strike could walk through, and led him into a narrow passageway behind the bar. She pointed towards the end of the passage, saying 'She's down there. Dark hair, glasses, late forties'. Strike imagined there was a slight emphasis on the word 'late'.

He thanked Chloe and turned to walk down the dingy passageway, taking care not to trip on the tatty, faded carpet. 

At the end of the passage Strike turned into an adjoining room where a dark haired woman was surrounded by boxes and checking items off on a clipboard. She looked up and gave him a warm smile, as he said 'I'm looking for Carrie?'. 

'You've found her' came the reply, and Strike couldn't hide his surprise - not only because this woman wasn't wearing glasses, but she also didn't look to be anything more than in her late thirties. 

Carrie caught his look of surprise and raised her own eyebrows before narrowing her eyes speculatively 'You look surprised - am I not what you were expecting?'.

Strike shook his head and grinned, before saying 'No, the description your daughter gave me was a little - different'.

Carrie made an exasperated sound before putting the clipboard down and grinning at him widely 'Oh God, what did she say this time - that I would be wearing a black pointy hat and carrying a broomstick, or that I look like the Keeper of the Crypt?!'.

Strike barked out a laugh before smiling warmly at her and saying 'Well, the description was dark hair...' Carrie fed a tendril of her dark brown hair through her fingers and looked down at it before affirming 'Check!'

'...glasses...' Strike continued; Carrie turned and picked up a pair of glasses from the box behind her, settling them on her nose and saying 'It's my age, I can't see things close up without taking them off!' which Strike felt led rather neatly on to the last item on the list '... and late forties.'

Carrie flushed a little and raised her eyes to the ceiling, muttering 'Oh for God's sake!' under her breath. She then met Strike's eyes with a rueful smile on her lips - which, he couldn't help but notice, were full, and shining with a soft pink lip gloss. Carrie shrugged her shoulders and said 'She could have just said "in her forties", couldn't she, without adding on the "late"? Although I suppose technically it is true; I am 47 after all. But nobody likes to have strangers being told their age like that, do they?'. She gave Strike an open, friendly smile, her eyes lingering on his, and his heart pounded a little harder - was she _flirting_ with him? 

Strike looked away for a second, before replying 'Oh right, that was what threw me - I wouldn't have said you were more than late thirties.'

Carrie flushed a little again, and made a scoffing noise to indicate she didn't believe him. Strike held up his hands and said 'Honestly! I'm 42, and you look a lot younger than me!'. 

Strike immediately wished he had thought better of this sentence before opening his mouth, as of course his declaration had the immediate effect of making Carrie scrutinise his face - he saw her taking in the wrinkles around his eyes, the grey in his beard and at his temples, but she didn't appear to be displeased with what she saw - she raised an eyebrow and quirked one corner of her mouth in a way that seemed to indicate she was finding what was in front of her favourable. 

Carrie laughed again and said 'Well, thanks for the compliment - perhaps I'll add that in to my Tinder profile! I might have a bit more luck then...' and she pulled a self-deprecating face. 

Strike grinned, he'd heard how hit-and-miss Tinder dating could be. 'Oh right, you're on there, are you?'. 

Carrie shrugged 'Yeah, Chloe said I should get on it and set up a profile for me. That's the trouble with this job you see - I meet loads of blokes when they come in for a drink on a Friday or Saturday night, we get on well, they ask me out, and then they're always surprised that I can't go on dates on Friday or Saturday nights cos I'm working! They all seem to work Monday to Friday 9 til 5, and get really stroppy that I can't go out with them in the evenings - my best time for a date is a midweek lunch, and you can imagine how that suggestion goes down!'.

Strike grinned, he knew exactly what she meant - how many times had the women he was dating complained that he was always busy during evenings and weekends? 'Yes, I have the same problem.' he said 'Doing my job means I'm often out doing surveillance evenings and weekends, which isn't very compatible with dating'.

Carrie smiled. 'Perhaps we need to date people who are in the Police or nursing, something like that, they'd be used to the unsocial hours'. Strike nodded in agreement. 

There was a subtle shift in the air; Strike could feel Carrie had drawn a line under the niceties, and was now ready to move onto the reason for his visit. 

'So, you said on the phone that you wanted to speak to me about Laura's death?' Carrie asked.

'Yes, that's right. I understand she was a friend of yours?' 

Tears suddenly welled in Carrie's eyes, and she nodded, mutely.

'I am sorry for your loss.' Strike said, softly. 

Carrie sniffed wetly and said 'Thanks. So, you didn't say on the phone - who has hired you to look into this? Laura told me she didn't have anything to do with her family since they kicked her out a few years ago, and I wouldn't have thought they'd have the money to hire anyone anyway?'

Strike shook his head before saying 'No, it's Laura's boyfriend, Arnie Keen.'

The name had an immediate effect on Carrie. Her head snapped up, and she said 'Arnie?' in a harsh, disbelieving voice, tears now spilling down her cheeks.

Strike nodded, whilst his mind raced, trying to work out why this seemed to upset Carrie - after all, Carrie was Arnie's alibi for the time of Laura's death, so they must have all been friends? 

Carrie wiped her eyes and cheeks with harsh, swiping motions, and said 'I wish you'd said on the phone it was him that had hired you - I could have saved you a trip'. Her demeanour had changed, she was all hard edges and frostiness now, all warmth and camaraderie gone. 

Strike frowned, trying to make sense of what was happening 'Are you saying that because Arnie is the one who hired me, you _won't _help me find out what happened to Laura?'.__

____

Carrie gave a short nod, not bringing her eyes up from where they were fixed on the floor, as if whatever she could see there was of the utmost interest to her. 

____

All Strike could think of to ask was 'Why?' 

____

Carrie's head snapped up - Strike could feel the anger vibrating off her body as she looked him in the eye and said, her voice ringing in the small room, 'Because it's Arnie's fault she's dead'.

____


	2. I need a drink...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike finds out why Carrie hates Arnie Keen, and what happened the night Laura died.

Strike's head was reeling, his brain scrambling to try and make sense of Carrie's shocking declaration. 

'But... you're his alibi - you said he was with you at the time she died, how is he responsible for her death?'.

Carrie swiped the back of her hand under her nose, leaving a streak of shiny snot across it. 

'He might not have been the one who pulled the trigger,' she said 'but it was his fault just as much as if he had.' 

The fight and tension seemed to leave her body all of a sudden, and she slumped against one of the boxes. 'I need a drink' she said and began walking slowly towards the passageway. Strike assumed she wanted him to follow her, and did so, but kept a respectful distance just in case. To his surprise she didn't head towards the bar, but instead mounted a flight of stairs at the other side of the passageway, which he realised led to her flat upstairs. 

Carrie led Strike into what he presumed was her sitting room - the large windows meant it was bright and airy, although in need of a lick of paint and a new carpet. There was a comfy looking three piece suite in a grey corduroy, a few side tables topped with lamps and framed photographs, and a large flatscreen TV dominated one corner. The opposite side of the room was taken up with an enormous sideboard, from which Carrie retrieved two glasses and indicated a range of bottles from which Strike could choose his drink. 

'Oh, uh, whiskey for me please'.

'Ice? Water?'

'No thanks'.

Carrie poured both of them generous measures of neat whiskey, handed his glass to him and indicated he should sit in one of the armchairs. She settled herself on the sofa, drawing her legs up to the side and cradling her drink in her hands as if it were something precious. 

She stared out of the window, but Strike could tell she wasn't seeing the windows of the houses opposite, but was replaying events from the past in her mind's eye. He was content to sit silently, sipping his drink, waiting for her to come back to the present and begin speaking. 

'She was a lot younger than him.' Carrie suddenly said, making Strike start slightly. 'Well, a lot younger than all of us, I suppose. I've known Arnie for years - my parents always said he was a wide boy. Got his fingers in lots of pies, always has flash cars and a lot of cash in his pocket, but no-one really knows how he makes it all. He gives me the creeps... always trying to pick up young women, you know, never women his own age'

Strike nodded encouragingly; he knew the type.

'Anyway, he met Laura in here one night - he was flirting with her all night, giving her all that, you know, about how much money he had, all his cars, exotic holidays ... it turned her head, she was so young for her age, so innocent. She didn't really have any friends here, I think she'd not long moved down here from Kidderminster after her parents chucked her out.' Carrie took a long drink, turning the glass around in her fingers as she thought back.

'Arnie was really nice to her, at first. He took her out to all these posh restaurants, bought her nice things, you know - treated her really well. I thought perhaps he'd fallen for her and was turning over a new leaf'. Carrie gave a soft, derisive laugh, as though rueing her own gullibility. 'It didn't take long though, for him to start treating her badly.'

'In what way?'

Carrie moved restlessly against the sofa cushions. 'Oh, not ringing her when he said he would, being cold towards her, making her feel she'd done something to upset him, talking about how he didn't think they were right for each other ... just your basic emotional manipulation, really.' Carrie gave him a sudden, piercing look. 'Have you ever known anyone who was being abused, emotionally?'

Strike resolutely pushed away any thoughts of Charlotte, and how she had treated him. Instead he thought back to what he'd heard about Robin's relationship with Matthew, after the divorce. How he had denigrated her achievements, told her men thought she was just 'a walking pair of tits', that Strike had only kept her on to work for him because he wanted to sleep with her. He nodded his head, but didn't trust himself to speak; remembering how Robin's glow had been so diminished by Matthew's behaviour still made his blood boil. 

'It's shit to watch, isn't it?' Carrie said. 'Laura would be in here, crying, asking what she'd done wrong. I'd be telling her she hadn't done anything, that he was just manipulating her. I said I'd sort out a place she could stay, I offered her money, a job... but as soon as he thought he'd pushed her too far and she might actually leave him he'd turn up again, telling her how much he loved her and didn't want to be without her, showering her with gifts and attention and she'd be so happy again - until the next time.'

There was a silence. Carrie had drained her drink; she stood up to get herself and Strike a top up, before flopping back onto the sofa. 

'If you invited someone on a date, where would you arrange to meet them?' Carrie suddenly asked.

Strike was flummoxed - he couldn't see what on earth possessed her to start quizzing him about his dating habits, and wondered what this had to do with what she'd been telling him. He knew Carrie noticed his surprise and discomfort, but she kept steadily looking at him, waiting for his answer. 

'Oh, uh, I dunno... I'd either pick her up at her place, or meet her at a bar or restaurant I suppose - it depends.' he shrugged.

Carrie smiled weakly and raised her eyebrows 'Yeah. Do you know what Arnie would do?'. 

Strike shook his head. 

'He'd tell her to get all dressed up - you know, short skirt, low cut top, high heels, the works - and give her the name of a road for her to go and meet him; you know, he'd be there to pick her up. Laura didn't know London, so she didn't know that he was sending her off to red light districts. Then he'd make sure he was late. 15 minutes, half an hour...' she broke off. 

Strike felt sick to his stomach. The thought of the pretty young woman from the newspaper photos standing on street corners, waiting for her boyfriend to come and get her - it was incomprehensible. 'Why did he do that?' Strike asked. 

Carrie blew out a long sigh. 'Because it amused him. He liked to think of her, stood there, being approached by men looking for sex, maybe the police driving past - it frightened her, and made her feel unsettled, and that's what he liked. She'd be so grateful when he finally turned up, and she'd forgive him every time. He always had a bullshit excuse about how he had business nearby, and it overran, and he didn't mean to be late. She never believed that he was doing it on purpose, but he used to sit here, in _my _pub, boasting to his vile mates about what he did and how 'grateful' it made her.' She fixed him with an anguished gaze.__

__Strike suddenly understood._ _

__'That's why she was on that road that night?' he breathed. 'That's why you said it was Arnie's fault she'd died?'._ _

__Carrie raised one eyebrow and nodded her head. 'If it wasn't for him sending her there, and then making her wait for him, she never would have been in that area, never would have been killed'. She looked back down into her glass, tears from her cheeks dripping into it and mixing with the whiskey._ _

__Strike thought back to how Arnie had sat in his office, sobbing, giving every appearance of a heartbroken man, begging Strike to find out who had murdered the love of his life - his stomach tightened, and he clenched his fists. 'Why on earth would Arnie hire me to look into Laura's death? He must have known I'd find out all this?' he snarled angrily._ _

__Carrie shrugged. 'He always thinks he's cleverer than he is; I don't expect he thought you'd ask those sort of questions. He probably thinks if you find out who pulled the trigger it'll make him feel less guilty - I saw him after he was questioned by the police, he really was in bits. He's lived such a gilded life, everything's always gone his way, he's probably never felt responsible for anything in his life before.'_ _

__Carrie shifted forwards on the sofa, fixing her gaze on Strike, willing him to understand. 'That's why I hope you won't look into this for him - I don't want that bastard feeling better, or any less guilty about his part in her death. I want him to remember Laura and how it's his fault she died, every day for the rest of his life.'_ _

__Strike couldn't help but agree with her. His opinion of his client had certainly changed - from feeling sympathy for the sobbing, grieving boyfriend Arnie Keen originally appeared to be, Strike's position now was that he would like to punch Arnie Keen on the nose. Really hard._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It goes without saying that no-one deserves to be treated badly, emotionally or physically.  
> If you or someone you know needs help, the Citizens Advice Bureau lists lots of resources here:  
> https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/family/gender-violence/domestic-violence-and-abuse-getting-help/
> 
> I'm in the UK so these sites are UK based, but similar help is available wherever you are in the world. Please do ask for help if you need it.


	3. Shanker said that?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike makes a momentous decision

Strike gulped down the rest of his drink, relishing how the burning sensation from the whiskey washed away some of the nausea he was feeling after Carrie's revelation. 

'Tell me,' she said, curiously, 'did Arnie say you should come and speak to me?'. 

Strike shook his head 'No, in fact when I mentioned I was intending to come and speak to you he got _very _agitated - which is what made me come and see you before speaking to anyone else'. Strike gave Carrie a weak smile, which she returned.__

____

'Hmmm. I'll bet he's been shitting himself about me telling you all this - we had a huge row the night she died, I don't expect he told you that, did he?'. 

____

'No. What was that about?'. 

____

'Oh, I came downstairs to work and he was sat at the bar with all his cronies, laughing about how he'd told Laura to meet him on Holly Park Road, and how she didn't know it was such a rough area. I told him he was a shitty little creep and was yelling at him that he had to go and pick her up right now, but he just kept shouting that she'd be alright if he left it another 5 minutes... well.' 

____

Carrie's eyes dropped to her empty glass, as both she and Strike ruminated on how very **not** alright things had turned out. She looked up at him 'When the police asked him what she was doing there, he said she'd got the address of where he was meeting her wrong; that he'd told her to be at Holly Place and she'd gone to Holly Park Road instead... little shit, he even tried to make out it was her own fault she got killed.' she said, with anger back in her voice now.

____

'Why didn't you tell the police any of this?' Strike asked. He knew from reading her witness statement that she had only corroborated that Arnie Keen was in the pub at the time Laura had been shot, and hadn't mentioned any of the things she'd told Strike today. 

____

Carrie rolled her eyes in exasperation 'I run a pub, in a rough part of London - how well do you think my business would do if I went around telling the police things that have happened or are said in here?' she said. 'This is the sort of place where people on the wrong side of the law hang out, I don't want to bring any police attention to them. Anyway, what difference would it have made? My friend was still dead'. 

____

Strike nodded his head thoughtfully. 'I don't suppose there's anyone I can talk to here that would know who was-'

____

'No way!' Carrie spoke over the end of his sentence. 'Look, the police told me that Laura was just in the wrong place at the wrong time; there was an argument between two rival gang members, she happened to be on that street and was caught in the crossfire and killed. It's shitty and I wish it wasn't the case, but that's all there is to it. If you take my advice, you'll keep whatever money that idiot Arnie has given you, and tell him you can't find out anything. If you start looking into this you'll put your life at risk, and the lives of those around you. These people don't mess about - if they think you're investigating them you'll be the next victim of an accident, make no mistake.' Carrie held eye contact with him, urging him to see sense, fear written on her face. 

____

Strike nodded to show he understood what she was saying. His desire to find the person responsible had lessened the more he heard what a nasty piece of work Arnie was, and he didn't appreciate being lied to by his client.

____

'Anyway, I don't think my punters would be the sort of people you'd want to speak to.' she said, a grin flitting across her mouth at the thought. 

____

'Ah, well, it just so happens that I think one of your regulars is a very good friend of mine.' Strike said, grinning widely.

____

Carrie returned his smile 'Oh yeah? I can't wait to hear which one of my regulars you think is a friend of yours!' she said, clearly not believing a word of it. 

____

'I believe my mate Shanker might come in here?'

____

Carrie's eyes widened in shock ' _You _know Shanker?'__

____

__Strike nodded, enjoying the fact that he'd shaken her self-assurance. 'I've known him since I was a kid, he's like a brother to me'._ _

____

__Carrie's eyes narrowed, and the smile dropped from her face; she clearly thought he was lying to her._ _

____

__'Oh really.' she said sarcastically. 'Well, I've never heard him mention your name, which is a bit odd, him being like a brother to you and all'._ _

____

__Strike's lips quirked awkwardly 'Well, that's cos he doesn't call me by my name - he calls me Bunsen'._ _

____

__Carrie's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline, they moved so far up her forehead. 'You're Bunsen?!' she giggled 'I don't believe it!'._ _

____

__Strike raised his trouser leg slightly, to show her the metal of his prosthesis, correctly guessing this would be identification enough. Carrie's eyes widened and she dissolved into giggles again, clearly enjoying the revelation. 'Oh my goodness,' she gasped, 'the stories he's told me about you!'._ _

____

__Strike rolled his eyes good naturedly. They sat smiling warmly at each other, before Carrie suddenly blushed prettily, looked at her watch and said that she needed to get back to the bar._ _

____

__Strike found that he didn't want their conversation to end; it had been a long time since he'd met anyone with whom he had such an instant rapport, and they clearly found eah other attractive... he resolutely dragged his mind away from thoughts of Robin, tired of the interminable circle of thoughts that haunted his every waking moment._ _

____

__He definitely liked Robin (he refused to use the other L word, even just in his own thoughts), he thought she liked him, but what if she didn't? Or even worse, what if they dated and broke up and ended up hating each other? Strike didn't think he could survive that, so he spent much of his time doggedly pushing down his feelings, drowning his sorrows alone in his dingy little flat, feeling lonely and sad._ _

____

__He was suddenly sick of it all; sick of wanting what he couldn't have, sick of being lonely, sick of wondering what Robin was doing when they weren't together..._ _

____

__'Do you fancy going out for a drink some time?' he asked quickly, before he could change his mind, terrified that she might say yes, equally terrified that she might say no. 'On a weekday, at lunchtime, of course!' he added, with what he hoped was a charismatic smile, but he feared was more like a rictus grin._ _

____

__Carrie looked into his eyes for a moment, considering the question carefully. 'Do you mean as friends, or as a date?' she asked finally._ _

____

__Strike shrugged 'Either - whichever you'd like' he said, mentally preparing himself for her choosing the former rather than the latter._ _

____

__Carrie looked at him for a long time; she seemed to be debating whether to speak or not. 'I would love to go for a drink with you, I really would ... it's just that ... Shanker said that there's someone you're - interested in?' she said eventually. Strike's heart thumped so hard he felt sure she would be able to hear it; he half expected to see his heart pushing the front of his shirt out like he was a cartoon character._ _

____

__'Really?' he said, non-committally, as if he had no idea to what she could be referring._ _

____

__There was the ghost of a smile on Carrie's lips, as if she saw straight through him. 'Yes, your ... business partner?' she said._ _

____

__Strike cleared his throat, more to give himself time to think than because he needed to speak._ _

____

__'Unrequited love, was how Shanker described it.' Carrie smiled softly._ _

____

__'Shanker said that?!' Strike couldn't believe his ears._ _

____

__Carrie nodded softly 'Mmm, he's quite poetic when he's got a few drinks inside him. He said you love each other, but you're both too scared to do anything about it'._ _

____

__Strike's heart thumped painfully again, and he grimaced, indicating this was not a conversation he wanted to have - with a woman he'd just asked out on a date, nonetheless._ _

____

__'My husband of 25 years died two years ago.' Carrie said, in a quiet voice. Strike's head lifted, feeling his eyes inexorably drawn to hers. 'Brain tumour.' she added, before letting out a breath in a long sigh. 'I'd give anything to have even one more day with him, to tell him how much I love him, to hold him again, kiss him...' her voice tailed off and Strike felt a wave of emotion build inside him, threatening to overwhelm him with its intensity._ _

____

__Carrie fixed him with one of those looks she specialised in, which seemed to pierce his soul. 'If you do love her, or even if you just think there's a chance that you could, don't waste another minute; go and tell her right now. None of us know how long we've got, and you shouldn't miss the chance to spend every minute you can with the one you love. I had 25 wonderful years with my husband, and I still regret all the times we argued or I didn't make time to spend with him; don't you think you'll regret every minute you've missed if something happens to her, like it did to Laura?'._ _

____

__Suddenly Strike's thoughts were consumed with a new version of 'what if'... what if something happened to Robin, or to him, and he'd never told her how he felt? What if he told her, and she did feel the same way? What if they could be together, loving each other, sharing a life... suddenly anything seemed possible, and Strike couldn't wait to speak to Robin, tell her how he felt, take her in his arms, _kiss _her...____

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____Strike stumbled his way out of the pub door, fumbling in his pocket to retrieve his phone, his hands shaking as he called Robin's mobile; silently urging her to answer her phone, his heart feeling like it would burst from his chest, every pulse of blood in his veins calling her name - 'Robin, Robin, Robin'._ _ _ _

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End file.
